Michael Jacobs' new play, which opened Tuesday at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, is set in a Manhattan art gallery and features works by Monet, Chagall, Picasso and other celebrated and lesser-known masters, all represented as lovingly as they are detailed in the author's stage directions. There's also the presence of Joan Allen, impossibly stunning at 52, and the still-debonair Jeremy Irons, appearing on Broadway for the first time in 20 and 25 years, respectively.

Sadly, it's hard to imagine what, other than the scenery, compelled the accomplished and appealing actors to choose this particular project for their return. Jacobs' own last Broadway outing was 1978's short-lived Cheaters. He has since become a successful film and television producer and helped create sitcoms such as My Two Dads and Charles in Charge.

Here the playwright is clearly intent on telling an adult love story, and the result is a good-natured but woefully contrived account of two artsy, alienated types grasping for connection.

Allen plays Katharine, the gallery owner, one of those polished urban women who have settled into a state of comfortably jaded resignation. The high point of her week is "cranberry day," when she can buy her favorite muffin from Mr. Linder, the local baker, who knows that this treat "gives his predominantly female clientele something to look forward to."

Irons' character, Thomas, is a photographer who works for Katharine, sort of. In truth, it's hard to tell what purpose he serves other than to provide a witty and genial sparring partner, particularly since Katharine is loath to sell any of the pieces she has on display. Her attachment to the art is explained, and other glimmers beneath her brittle exterior revealed, in flashbacks that cast Irons both as a former lover and as her father.

Thomas' own baggage is somewhat illuminated late in the play, in a recollection set during his travels in Africa, before he met Katharine. Alas, neither female character who figures briefly into this segment is a relative or love interest, so we're not encouraged to glean anything about his issues with the opposite sex.

Both lead actors seem stumped by their awkwardly, sentimentally drawn roles, as does their estimable director, Jack O'Brien. Irons manages to bring redeeming grace to the performance, speaking his lines with a knowing gentleness and exuding an easy, rumpled charm. Allen's readings, in contrast, seem breathless and strained, as though she is struggling to force more genuine life and nuance into Katharine.

The supporting players are similarly limited. Marsha Mason has a crowd-pleasing turn as a well-heeled matron, and Andre De Shields gamely does double duty as an African fisherman and the only slightly less cartoonish baker.

Like Mr. Linder's goodies, Impressionism offers warmth and sweetness, and has nicely tart undertones. But art it ain't.

Copyright 2009 USA TODAY